


If The Truth To Power Fits

by NerdNirdNurd



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angelic Cameo, Family, Gen, John Winchester Learns, John Winchester Wants To Live, Supernatural Cathartica, The feels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-25
Updated: 2018-10-26
Packaged: 2019-08-07 07:33:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16404050
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NerdNirdNurd/pseuds/NerdNirdNurd
Summary: AU. John's run in with a witch gives him a second chance with his kids.John loved his boys. The problem was his dead wife came first.Also, I've got to figure, that sometimes, Dean got fed up.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> This can be considered part of Supernatural Cathartica; For those of you who don't know, the Cathartica series is my take on the Winchesters and friends if they were like, real people; and how real people would react to some of the bullshit Supernatural characters do, on the show, and in fanfiction. 
> 
> This story falls into the 'unexpected and awkward sentimental stuff sad, lonely people say when they're stoned on meds and they've got a captive audience' category. The kind of sh**t you say when you're at the end of your rope, and you've finally got a chance to just GO OFF.
> 
> There is some foul language. I figure the WInchesters, and everyone in their circle, curse, quite a bit. Unbeta'ed

John cursed under his breath. He knew his boys were capable hunters, but like most young people, they were prone to stupid mistakes. Like falling down an icy stairway and cracking bones along the entire right side of his body. And if John knew Dean, it had all happened to keep Sam from falling down the ice covered stairs and breaking his back. As if it mattered which son ended up in the hospital. John called Mitch Johnson to partner up against the witch Dean and Sam had been after. It took a couple of days for Mitch to arrive, during which time John got some much needed sleep; once Mitch arrived, the the two men spent three days chasing the woman across three states before they caught up to her and killed her. 

She levelled some sort of death curse at him before she died. Her last words were spoken to quietly for him to hear them, but nothing hurt, and he didn't fall dead, turn stupid, lose his memory, get the hots for the nearest pony or turn into a warthog, so he figured he was safe enough to travel until he could meet up with Bobby and hopefully undo whatever she had done to him. John hoped it wasn't some kind of curse where he'd get punched in the face by strangers once they got a look at him. He'd seen that happen to a fellow hunter back in his early days. It was funny at first, but the guy ended up with brain damage before anyone figured out how to undo the charm. The guy ended up in a nursing home, with maybe half of his memories. On the other hand, Derrick died kind of happy, because he didn't remember his dead wife and son. As for Mitch, he went home with a broken wrist. 

John brought his attention back to the task at hand - de-curse himself as quickly as possible. He'd have to meet Bobby where ever the man was. And it just so happened, that Bobby was with Dean and Sam. Bobby promised to have the ingredients by the time John arrived a couple of days later. 

When John parked in the hospital parking lot, he steeled himself for the confrontation to come: Bobby would give him a disapproving stare and Sam would pitch one of his famous unholy fits. Dean would be the peaceful port in the storm. John would focus on Dean, because Dean understood. Dean got it. His oldest son understood that what they were all doing was important. That monsters didn't take holidays, vacations or sick days. Evil never rested. 

John got the room number from the desk attendant and took the elevator to the fourth floor. He walked down the hall, and opened the door to room 403.

Bobby and Sam turned as one to watch John walk into the room. For a moment, all remained silent. JOhn looked at Dean, who was awake. He must've broken his shoulder bone, because his left arm was stuck out to his side in a massive cast. The matching leg was also in a cast. And there was dressing wrapped around his head. John could see where Dean's hair had been shaved off of the left side of his head.

John sighed and frowned. Of all the dumb things for Dean to do. John knew Dean meant well, and it had been years since Dean royally fucked up. But fucking hell, John wondered just how in the hell Dean _didn't_ get killed.  
"What happened?" John asked.  
"I slipped." Dean shrugged as if he wasn't much bothered by his injuries, but his tone was icy. John raised an eyebrow.  
"I can see that." John ground out.  
"What does it matter?" Sam asked from behind John. "It's not like you care anyway. I don't even understand why you're here."  
John bit his tongue - literally, because he knew if he opened his mouth he'd add another thing to the long list of shit he'd said to Sam that he could never take back. When Bobby spoke up, John seized the opportunity to ignore Sam's outburst.  
"We thought you weren't coming." Bobby said. John nodded.  
"I went after the witch, since these two didn't deliver." John said, as an offhanded jab at Sam.  
"Well good for you. You killed a witch." Sam snarled. "You must be so proud of your dedication and efficiency."  
"I don't want to fight, Sammy." Which was true, John didn't want to fight with Sam. John never wanted to fight with Sam.  
"Why don't you go get some coffee, Sam?" Bobby said.  
"No thanks." Sam said evenly. "I guess we should be happy you showed up at all."  
"Yeah, you should." John said. "How the fuck did you not see stairs covered in ice? Didn't you scope the place out at all?"  
"She was a pretty powerful witch, Dad." Dean said.  
"Don't you 'Dad' me, and you can't even look to your left." John snapped. He felt guilty for that, because he was actually angry at Sam.  
"Sam said she created the ice. It wasn't there when they first got to the place." Bobby explained.  
"What else didn't you know about the witch?" John snapped, looking first from Sam and then to Dean. "Did you actually do any research, or did you just plow in through the front door?"  
The thing was, John was pretty sure Dean had done just that. He had a history of it.  
"I did the research. Nothing suggested she had that kind of power." Sam said. "There were no odd weather patterns in the area prior to our arrival."  
That told John the witch was smart - she didn't display her real power unless she was in real danger. And his boys had been that real danger. That made him proud. His boys were good. John turned back to Dean.  
"You get your rest. I'll catch up with you in a few weeks." John said, and he turned to Bobby.  
"Unbelievable!" Sam complained. "You can't even stick around for ten minutes?" Sam asked.  
"Dean's in good hands. And he's got you and Bobby. I've got a line on werewolves in Connecticut. That's a two day drive." Which was true. But he wasn't actually interested in the werewolves. He was interested in people they did business with, that had connections to a demon known to answer to yellow eyes. But Bobby and the boys didn't need to know that.  
"So give it to someone else." Bobby said, mildly. John shook his head.  
"No can do, Caleb is meeting me there."  
"I can get Pablo on it - he lives in Rhode Island. He can be there tonight. He's got history with werewolves." Bobby said.  
"You got what I asked you for?" John said, changing the subject.  
"Pablo. Can. Do it." Bobby reiterated.  
"Not you too." John said, closing his eyes, to collect his thoughts. "This is our job, Bobby. It's our business. We kill monsters. We save people. And I'm getting closer to the demon, Bobby."  
John figured it was safe enough to admit that much. If he kept it vague enough, the boys wouldn't jump to go with him.  
"John..."  
"They're not kids anymore, Bobby. They don't need me to hold their fucking hands to cross the street anymore. He's in a fucking hospital. It's not as if I can heal him. People haven't stopped dying because Dean broke his fucking arm." John snapped, ready to be done with the conversation. And then:  
"Let him go." Dean said, speaking in a tired voice. John turned to looked at Dean. Leave it to Dean to see reason! John offered Dean a small smile of praise.  
"Let him run off to his hunt." Dean said. "It's all he's got anyways."  
John's smile fell from his face. Bobby turned to look at Dean too. Sam's eyes were wide.  
"I don't know why you keep calling him Sammy, I really don't." Dean said. A bad feeling came over John. He felt the hairs on his neck stand up, and chills run down his body. Dean kept talking.  
"We've been begging him to come home to us, to spend time with us, our while fucking lives, right Sammy? Fuck, my shoulder hurts."  
Dean winced and then licked his lips.  
"I do the best I can, Dean."  
John said tiredly.  
"Nah, not really." Dean retorted. "You're never around because we're not who you wanna be with. We're. Not. Mary. And everybody knows, there's just no fucking point to the whole family bullshit without Mary, right? You're always talking about family comes first, but you never mean you."  
"Dean." John warned.  
"I'm not finished," Dean cut John off. "You and Sammy are always doing the talkin. Well it's my turn tonight.You know what I'm tired of? Begging for a fucking phone call. No reason why you can't pick up a phone John, let us know you're alive and safe somewhere. No reason why you can't return any of our calls to you. I can understand you ignoring a call from a stranger, hut you don't ignore calls from strangers. You just ignore us. And if someone calls you on it? Your only answer is, there's monsters! Dean! Family business Dean! Any old shit is OK because I'm killing monsters, Dean! Fuck you, John. Fuck you and your monsters.  
"Dean..." Bobby tried again.  
"Let him talk." Sam said, quietly.  
"Well, I musta won the grand prize if Sammy, no sorry, SAM, is letting me talk. You're so fucking generous. " Dean winced in pain. While Dean was wincing, John tried to move, and couldn't. He was literally glued in place. But he'd be damned if his own son was going to dress him down like this.  
"Watch what you say to me, soldier." John was proud of his calm response. But he only managed to rile Dean up more  
"Speaking of which...I don't wanna be your son anymore. There are too many responsibilities, and not enough pay." Dean snorted at his own joke. "I spent my whole childhood raising Sam for you, and I can't get so much as a thank you."  
"Dean..."  
"Thank yous are beneath Winchesters. D'j'ya know that Bobby? I'm not worth a fucking thank you." Dean ground out. Tears glistened in his eyes.  
"Dean, he knows what you do for him and..." Bobby murmured, leaning forward.  
"But he'd rather die than thank me for it, right? Or lemme guess, he tells _you_ how grateful he is, but when he gets to me the best he can do is 'why isn't the coffee ready yet' and I'm supposed to know that he's fucking grateful for all the shit I do. In twenty four years, I can't remember the last time he told me he appreciates what I do. And...no such thing as apologies, either. When he fucks up, he won't apologize. He won't even acknowledge it. I'm just suppose to forgive every little fucked up thing he does, but if I fuck up, I'm the world's worst son, I'm stupid and useless. He doesn't celebrate birthdays or holidays or take a day off to spend with his kids and you know why? He considers time with me and Sam a colossal waste of time and two, because anything and everything reminds him of Mary. He told me that once, when he was drunk off his ass. That's why he spends so much time hunting. Me and Sam remind him of what he lost and he just can't be with us sometimes. And you know John. Always seeing to his own needs. Fuck what anybody else needs. Clothes? Fuck Dean, I taught you how to steal, get 'em yourself. Food? Figure something out Dean. Rent? Make it happen Dean! The one time I fucked up and got caught stealing food for Sam, he ditched me. Then he told Sam I ran away; the fuck kind of a man does that?. Hell, you've done more to raise Sam than JOhn has...  
"Dean!" Bobby yelled.  
"He's not gonna shoot you, Bobby. He needs someplace to say when he's out of cash." Dean snarled. Dean seemed to calm then. Tears rolled down his cheeks. He breathed in and out for a minute before turning his head in John's general direction.  
"You're always saying how you're doing the best you can and I guess it is, for a guy who doesn't wanna be bothered." Dean surmised. "I'm tired of defending you. I used to try and...bring you back. LIke, you know, the way you were back when I was four. I thought I could show you the way back. I'd be the glue. I'd keep the family going. But you know what? I don't remember being four anymore. I don't remember that, uh, you. Why should I fight for that guy? You didn't."  
Another pause. When Dean spoke again, it was to his brother.  
"You get it yet, Sam? Dad died with Mom. He's so busy avenging the dead, he ain't got time for the living. He can't do the family thing cuz' Mom's dead. No point to it. So stop callin' him all the fuckin' time. You got me, and I got you, and we got Bobby. You understand what I'm sayin? Dad's dead, Sammy. Let him go."

And finally, Dean sagged as best he could with half his body in casts. Dean winced and rubbed his right eye with his right hand. "I'm tired. I got five more weeks before I can move on my own again, and I don't wanna hear anything more about who is or isn't here anymore. I just wanna get some rest. I'm going to sleep."  
Dean pressed the drug button a couple of times and closed his eyes. 

John felt the air pressure around him compress, expand, and then pop.

Well at least the curse was gone. John gently sat down on the corner of the bed and stared at Dean. John was angry. He didn't approve of sons dressing down their fathers. But John supposed Dean had a point. And if John was honest, that whole rambling complaint was a long, long time coming. 

For the moment though, John really couldn't stay.  
"The werewolves had a connection to someone who worked for yellow eyes." John said to Sam. Sam sat up and looked at John dully.  
"OK." Sam said, muted and accepting.  
"It's a good lead." John reiterated.  
"I believe you." Sam said. "Be careful."  
Bobby handed him a sack of ingredients.  
"Dean's never talked like that in his life. That must've been the curse." Bobby said. John nodded.  
"I agree." John said.  
"You can punch up the counter spell with sugar for sweetness and honey so it'll stick. If I were you, I'd do it tonight." Bobby said. John nodded.  
"Yeah. I'll do that."  
And with that, John left the hospital, figuring that Dean would be OK. He'd had his little moment and would probably feel better for it.

A couple of weeks later, John sent a text to Dean and Sam;  
_Am safe. Will meet u @ Bs, 3 dys_

He smiled when he got a text back from Sam:  
_Drv crfl. C U ltr._

Somewhere in London, a short blond man smiled when he felt a bubble pop. Father had given Gabriel a glimpse of the future; a hint as to how things would turn out, then left it to Gabriel to stop it. Gabriel had promptly departed from Heaven, and had bided his time as Loki. He'd be damned if he was going to let a sh**tpile like _Zachariah_ call the fucking shots. 


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> John does the hard thinking. It exhausts him.

When John left the hospital that day, he didn’t intend, nor did he expect, to give Dean’s complaints much, if any thought. The boy was in a world of hurt and aggravated and a little bit stoned. No big surprise. 

The surprise came later that night, after John had completed the ritual to cleanse himself of the spell: John didn’t consider himself dead. His heart was beating, he was traveling from one end of the country to the other, over and over again. Dead people didn’t drive, eat, sleep or drink whiskey.

John wasn’t the sort of guy who thought philosophically about anything. There was good and evil in the world. Black and white, living and dead; the sun was hot and water was wet , demons were bad and so on. John always felt that philosophy was some kind of pansy argument against those simple truths.

So when he asked himself what Dean meant when Dean’d told Sam that ‘Dad is dead’, John didn’t immediately understand what Dean meant. At first, John figured it was just Dean throwing out angry words; John didn’t take them to baseball games, so clearly he was dead inside.

What was life, anyway? John was life. The grass outside was life. Mary was life. Bobby was life. Kate and Adam were life. The stray cat digging in the garbage was life. What was living?

John had read an article about quality of life, once. About people who didn’t want to spend any time in vegetative states. He could relate to that. To be alive, but incapable of anything at all, including thought. John shuddered; that’s no way to live. But it’s still actual life. And life…was it actually a sacred thing? It couldn’t be that sacred if everything everywhere dies anyway, right?

What was it to be alive? John wasn’t sure, but he was pretty sure his head was beginning to hurt.

This was his normal cue to suck down half a fifth of gin. But John didn’t want to hit the sack just yet. Because when Dean was talking, it sounded a hell of a lot like his son was saying goodbye, and instructing the younger son to do the same.

_**‘Dad’s dead,** Sammy. Let him go.'_

John wanted to get angry about that – what a fucking disloyal thing to say and do. Didn’t Dean care if John got killed? Although, John had to admit, how would Dean know? Dean’s only indication would be when John never sent another set of coordinates. That would be his death notification.

John could admit that was kind of a bullshit thing to do to his sons. It literally wouldn’t kill John to let them know he was all right, would it? What did he have to lose by keeping in touch with his boys? 

When John first started hunting, he’d maintained radio silence as a practice in discipline – he figured if he called the boys, he’d lose the resolve to stay away from them long enough to do his chosen mission. But he’d been hunting for a decade and a half at this point. He knew what he was made of.

Annnnd Dean was right – when John gave the ‘family before everything’ speeches, he never actually meant himself. And today brought the result John hadn’t foreseen:John thought he’d die on his quest, and had trained his boys to rely solely on each other in order to survive, beyond his demise. It didn’t occur to him that they would write him off beforehand. And that’s just exactly what Dean was doing.

As for Bobby, he was a diplomatic kind of a guy - he’d already stepped in as best as a father figure whenever he got the opportunity. John knew Bobby’s house was safe place away from the hunt, and John too. John wasn’t actually angry at Bobby. Bobby was good to the boys. John would never fault the man for that. John was jealous, sure, but never, truly angry with Bobby.

John dug around in his duffle, looking for his trusty tin coffee cup. He opened the liquor and emptied half the bottle into the cup.

And as John sat there, in his motel room, staring at a broken television screen with a cup of booze in his hand, he honestly didn’t know why he didn’t stay at the hospital. He knew for a fact the boys wanted him there. John was the one who didn’t want to be there. 

And why was that?

Something John’s own mom had said a long ago came back to him. John hated church and was at the age where’s he’d simply stopped going when his mom complained about the church deacon.  
“You’ve never met a man more impressed with himself.” She’d said. John had snickered. He loved it when his mom told him about the people at church. Almost to the one, they aggravated her. “He’s the sort who attends a meeting, stays for eleven minutes, then jumps up and leaves because he has to be somewhere more important.”  
John grinned as she huffed and rolled her eyes.  
“You’d think he was off to meet the mayor to discuss a multimillion dollar policeman’s contract or something the way he was puffed up.”  
“Regular Barney Fife, hunh ma?” John had snickered. His mom had laughed.  
“Almost as bad.” she’d laughed.

‘

A fun memory. But John had something in common with that church deacon. OK, killing monsters was actually important. That wasn’t the issue.

Leaving the hospital made John feel like he was making forward progress; like he was in motion. But in real life? He was 800 fucking miles away from the hunt, so there was that. And he needed a solid five or six hours of sleep before he could safely hit the road. 

Jumping up and leaving because of the hunt he was going to depart for _tomorrow_ was sort of ridiculous. He could’ve stayed with his boys. 

So why didn’t he just stay there for a few hours? Because it didn’t occur to him. Because it was a waste of his oh, so precious time.

All this thinking, and all he did was circle back to what he already knew; Dean was right: John considered ‘family time’ a waste of time. So then John figured the next question to ask was, what did staying away from his boys gain him? John didn’t know the answer to that either. 

What he did know was that he was tired of thinking. So he emptied his cup, laid down, and went to sleep.

A couple of weeks later, after he’d finished the hunt and patched himself up and got a night’s rest, John picked up his phone and listened to his messages. There were none from Bobby, Dean or Sam. John didn’t actually expect any – Dean and Sam only called in emergencies, and Bobby only called with hunts John might be interested in.

Still…

On a whim, John thumbed in a quick text to both of his boys. He stared at the phone for a minute or two afterwards, because sending the text felt pretty good. There was a sliver of fear, because demons could always be around, seeing and hearing everything, but…

Sam replied within minutes.

John nodded to himself and dropped his phone into his pocket. And if he was smiling a little bit, no one needed to know.


End file.
